


the space between our lips

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dubcon Kissing, Fluff, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: A collection of kiss prompts from Tumblr.





	1. no spooky shit in here (Jonmartin, drunken kiss)

Martin tried to stay away. He really did. But he hadn’t been prepared for this, and even Peter couldn’t blame him.

He’d just left the Institute and was walking to the tube station when he caught a familiar voice and turned.

“You can’t just kick us out!” Daisy yelled, jabbing her finger at a doorman well over twice her size.

“We’re paying customers,” Jon insisted.

 _Jon._ Once Martin saw him, he couldn’t stop looking. Jon looked _terrible_ : the skin under his eyes was so dark it looked bruised, and he had at least two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Martin could swear there was more silver in his hair than a few weeks ago. 

“I told you two, no spooky shit in here,” the doorman said.

Jon squinted up at him, looking intent.

“You had relations with your employer’s brother,” he said softly. “Because you couldn’t have _him_. You never had the courage to tell him how you feel.”

The doorman’s face went red, and he tightened his fist. “You little—”

“Pardon me!” Martin said loudly, pushing himself between Jon and his would-be attacker. “My friends and I were just leaving.” 

Before the doorman could react, Martin pushed Jon and Daisy back in the direction of the Institute, and In a rare moment of self-preservation, they both followed quickly. When Martin realized no pursuit was forthcoming, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Martin!” said Daisy, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “We were just talking about you.” 

It was then that Martin realized something important: Daisy and Jon were both _incredibly_ drunk. Daisy’s breath reeked of scotch, and Jon had a cocktail umbrella tucked behind his ear.

“No, we weren’t,” Jon said hastily.

 _"Bullshit!”_ Daisy exclaimed. “I did not just sit through two hours of your goddamn pining for you to lie about it.”

She turned to Martin, who was still trapped in her embrace. “He really is pining,” she whispered loudly.

“I—er—we really should get you two back to the Institute, shouldn’t we?”

“Excellent idea!” said Daisy. “I’ve got more whisky there.”

Martin made a mental note to hide the whisky before he left, but at least it got the two of them walking in the right direction.

“Your hair looks pretty,” Jon told him. “Did it always look that pretty?”

Daisy scrutinized Martin carefully. “You know, I’m not sure.”

Jon took a step closer to Martin, or tried, before he tripped on a loose brick. He would have fallen if Martin hadn’t grabbed him around the waist.

“Are you alright?” Martin asked.

Jon responded by burying his face in Martin’s shoulder with a deep sigh.

“You even smell nice,” Jon said. “It isn’t fair.”

“Okay, I think—”

“You should kiss him,” Daisy said. “If you don’t, I will.”

“You can’t kiss Martin!” Jon squawked.

“Watch me.” Daisy wrapped her arms around Martin’s neck, lips puckered in readiness.

“Nooooo,” Jon protested, shoving her to the side.

Before Martin could stop him, Jon’s mouth met his in an enthusiastic and surprisingly skilled kiss. Jon’s tongue stroked his lower lip, making him gasp, and suddenly their tongues brushed. He tasted like apples and sweetness. Martin felt himself melt at the contact. 

The spell was broken by the sound of Daisy cheering loudly in Martin’s ear.

“Thatta boy!” she crowed, arms still around Martin’s neck.

Martin pulled back hastily. “I—erm—”

“Martin…” Jon said softly.

“We really should get back to the Institute!” Martin said.

The rest of their walk passed without incident. Jon and Daisy busied themselves arguing whose fault it was they were booted from the bar (Daisy swore it was Jon’s spooky eyes; Jon insisted it was Daisy’s vivid description of an encounter with the Flesh, complete with sound effects). To Martin’s relief, Basira was ready to intercept them when they arrived, herding her drunken coworkers inside and promising Martin she’d keep them out of trouble.

Once they were gone, Martin touched his lips with a shaky hand, unsure of what to make of the turn his night had taken. Then he began the long walk home. 


	2. Patience is its own reward (Petermartin, forehead kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes care of things that are his.

“Martin, do you know where I left the—?”

Peter stopped abruptly, staring at his assistant. Martin looked like death warmed over. His face was pale and sweaty, his cheeks flushed a feverish pink. He’d unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt, and his tie was loose. Used tissues littered the desk like offerings to a forgotten god.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“The financial reports you asked for,” Martin said, gesturing at a stack of papers half-hidden by tissues.

Peter stalked forward, looming over the desk. Martin, long used to such displays, ignored him until Peter seized his chin, forcing him to look up. Martin’s eyes were hazy as Peter laid a hand against his forehead. It was scorching.

“I asked you for reports,” Peter said. “I didn’t ask you to work yourself into a coma.”

Martin flinched, doubtlessly reminded of his little Archivist, but Peter ignored it.

“It’s just a cold,” Martin muttered.

“You’re taking the day off. Wait here.”

Peter stepped into the hall to summon his driver, then gathered Martin’s belongings in his satchel. His assistant gave only token resistance when Peter bundled him into his coat and shuffled him into the car. From there, it was only a short drive to Peter’s flat.

Martin stood wordlessly in Peter’s sitting room as Peter gathered a set of pajamas, depositing them on the chair beside Martin as he went to put on the kettle. To his consternation, Martin was still dressed when he returned.

“Martin, if you don’t put these on, I’m doing it for you.”

Martin scowled. “What do you even care?”

“Because you’re my assistant,” Peter said, touching Martin’s nose with one finger. “And I take care of what is mine. You’re no use to me if you run yourself into the ground.”

Martin flushed deeply, in a way that had nothing to do with the fever, before snatching the pajamas and disappearing into Peter’s bathroom. Peter smiled and went to finish making the tea.

Peter was unprepared for the sight of Martin in his pajamas. The boy was nearly his height, but his shoulders were narrower, and the top sagged off one shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Peter suppressed a surge of hunger. He’d been patient for too long to give away the game now. Instead, he guided Martin into his bed, helping him settle under the covers. He looked small in the sprawling bed, swallowed by Peter’s plush blankets.

Peter handed him a cup of tea and two paracetamol, which Martin swallowed obediently.

“This is good,” Martin said faintly.

_ It is,  _ Peter agreed internally.

“You should get some sleep,” he said instead.

“I suppose you’re right,” Martin said, burrowing deeper beneath the blankets.

Martin was asleep within minutes, as quick and trusting as a child. Peter reached down to brush a lock of hair out of his face. His skin was so smooth and soft, Peter couldn’t resist leaning down to brush a kiss against his forehead.

“Soon now,” Peter murmured. “Soon you’ll be ready.”

Smiling, Peter turned to take a book off the shelf, settling in a chair in the corner. He was a patient man.

He could wait.


	3. Inevitable (Petermartin, neck kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin was always going to be his, Peter knew. He just had to wait for Martin to realize it.

“Will it hurt?” Martin asked, looking up at Peter. He was trying to hide his anxiety, and failing badly; Peter could see it in the tense set of his shoulders and the tremble in his hands. 

“What do you think?” Peter said gently. 

Martin looked away, and Peter stepped forward, crowding him against the mahogany desk. He took Martin’s wrists in his hands and leaned close, until his lips nearly touched the shell of Martin’s ear. 

“Tell me,” Peter urged, squeezing Martin’s wrists. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep him still. Martin shuddered in his grasp, but he didn’t resist. 

“I think it’s always going to hurt,” he said. “No matter what I do.”

Peter smiled against Martin’s neck. 

“But...you’ve always been waiting for me, haven’t you? Or someone like you. No matter what I’ve done or where I’ve gone—I can’t remember a time when I  _ wasn’t _ lonely.”

“From the moment I saw you,” Peter said, nuzzling the soft skin of Martin’s throat. He could feel Martin’s pulse fluttering wildly, like a trapped animal. “It was inevitable.”

Martin was silent for a long moment. A fine tremor spread over his body, and the scent of fear made Peter’s mouth water. He inhaled deeply, until he was nearly drunk with it and the smell of Martin’s skin. 

“It doesn’t work unless you say it,” Peter told him. 

“I—fine. I want it. I want to be...with you. Your patron, I mean.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter murmured. “I’m so pleased.”

Peter gave into temptation and kissed Martin’s neck where it joined the shoulder, lips parting to suck until the skin bruised, before he laved it gently with his tongue. Martin jerked in his grasp, whimpering quietly, but he didn’t move. 

When Peter released him, Martin’s face was wet. He had never looked more beautiful. 

“Come now,” Peter said, extending a hand. “We’ve a boat to catch.”

Martin took his hand, and Peter let the Institute fade into a cloud of mist. 


	4. Bargaining chip (Jonmartin, returned from the dead kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon refuses to let go.

Jon coughed hard, his eyes stinging. The Archives were burning, and it was all his fault. 

“Martin!” he shouted. “Martin, where are you?”

The air was thick with smoke, but Jon could see perfectly, even as pain lanced through his skull with each destroyed statement. So many centuries of knowledge, gone in an instant, and Jon didn’t care. He ignored the pain and the choking heat, and pressed on. 

He found Martin on the floor of Elias’s office. He wasn’t moving. 

“No, no, no, _ no!”  _ Jon shouted, dropping to his knees. He grabbed Martin’s wrist to check for a pulse, but his hands were shaking too hard to tell. Instead he pressed his hand to Martin’s chest. His shirt was dark with blood, cold blood, and it stained Jon’s hands.

“I won’t accept this,” Jon snarled.“You won’t let me die, I get that—but I can’t do this without him, either. He’s _ mine.”  _

Jon grabbed Martin by the shoulders, rolling him into his lap. Tears fell onto Martin’s face. Jon didn’t bother to wipe them off.

“Do you hear me, you  _ useless _ fucking god? I’ve done what you wanted, I’ve done everything you asked, but it’s your turn. Give him _ back to me,  _ or the deal’s off.”

Pain lanced through Jon’s brain, blinding him. It seared his nerves and forced the air from his lungs. Every place where he touched Martin blazed with the brilliance of a thousand suns. 

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. He realized, distantly, that his throat was raw from screaming.

“J-jon?”

He looked down, and Martin was staring up at him fuzzily. His face was bruised and bloody, but he was  _ alive.  _ Jon laughed, though it hurt his throat.

It was the most natural thing in the world to take Martin by the shoulders and kiss him. More tears flowed, dampening their faces, but Jon didn’t care. Martin’s lips were as soft and perfect as Jon had imagined, and after a moment, they moved gently against his. 

“Jon, what’s happening?” Martin asked, leaning against his shoulder. 

“The beginning of a new era,” Jon told him, holding him close. 

They kissed again, as the Institute burned around them. 


	5. the perils of poor decision making (Lonely Eyes, "I almost lost you" kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a close call, Peter wakes in Elias's bed. Elias isn't pleased.

Peter awakes in a familiar bed. It’s not his own; the mattress is too soft, the blankets piled to deep. He catches the scent of Elias’s cologne, and smiles. 

“You’re awake,” Elias says in a tight, irritated voice. 

“It would seem so,” Peter agrees. He moves to sit up, but a flash of pain in his abdomen stops him in the motion. Inconvenient. 

“Don’t move,” Elias snaps, pushing him back against the mattress. “You’ll pull your stitches.”

With Elias hovering over him, Peter can make out the dark circles under his eyes, the tense lines at the corners of his mouth. 

“Darling, you were worried,” Peter says, delighted. 

“I was  _ concerned,” _ Elias corrects. 

“How very sweet of you.”

“You were stabbed  _ four times, _ then thrown in the Thames. Concern is appropriate.” Elias glares down at him. “Your death would mean a considerable delay in my plans.” 

“You mean you wouldn’t have wept at my funeral, and laid roses on my grave?”

“I would bury you at sea,” Elias says. “After resurrecting you long enough to kill you myself.”

Peter grins. Elias knows him so well. 

Elias leans down close, staring into Peter’s eyes. Peter is unaccustomed to this level of regard, but he forces himself to stare right back. 

“Never do that again,” Elias orders. 

“I’ll do my best.” It’s the closest Peter can come to a promise, and they both know it; neither of their patrons prioritize  _ safety.  _

Elias cups Peter’s jaw in his hand and claims his lips in a firm kiss. There’s no heat to it, only possession, and the reminder that Elias will never willingly release him. Peter hums in satisfaction and deepens the kiss. 

“You’re an idiot,” Elias murmurs against his lips. 

“You love me.”

“The worst decision I ever made,” Elias drawls. “Even worse, you love me back.”

“It’s terrible,” Peter agrees. 

Rolling his eyes, Elias hands him two white pills and a glass of water. 

“Sleep, and recover. We’ll talk more when you’re awake.”

Peter takes the pills without argument, and settles back into his mound of blankets. Elias sits nearby with a neat stack of paperwork. The scratch of his pen fills Peter’s ears as he drifts off, surrounded by soft pillows and Elias’s scent. 


	6. La fin du monde (Lonely Eyes, jealous kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has heard _plenty_ about Elias's pet Archivist, thank you.

“He’s progressing so quickly,” Elias says, practically glowing with pride. 

“That’s lovely, darling,” Peter tells him. 

“He’s developed more of an affinity for Beholding than Gertrude did in thirty years...albeit, she did have more in the way of what one would describe as ‘common sense’, but he doesn’t need that with me around.”

Peter takes a deep sip of his drink, a Belgian Tripel called, ironically,  _ La Fin du Monde.  _ He’ll need another soon if Elias doesn’t shut up. 

“He tried to compel me.  _ Me,  _ can you imagine?” Elias chuckles. “The audacity. No one’s tried that in over a hundred years.”

That’s the last straw. Peter rises and seizes Elias by the lapels, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter. Elias relaxes into his grip, smirking as Peter looms over him. 

“Is there a problem, Peter?”

“I didn’t come here to hear about your pet Archivist,” Peter says coldly. 

“What did you come here for?” Elias asks, tilting his head curiously. 

Peter shoves Elias against the wall, hard, before leaning down to claim his lips with teeth and tongue. Elias opens for him easily, gracefully, and Peter growls into his mouth, shoving a thigh between his legs. He can feel Elias’s interest stirring as Peter nuzzles his jaw, biting into his tender throat. 

“Before you had your Archivist, you had  _ me,”  _ Peter whispers harshly. “Your Archivist will never make you feel like this.”

“You jealous brute,” Elias says, eyes alight with amusement. 

Peter presses his thigh harder, until Elias’s breath catches in his throat. 

“You were here first, my dearest.” Elias lifts a hand to cup Peter’s jaw, stroking a thumb across the stubbled skin. “I won’t replace you with my little pet.”

“You’re  _ mine,  _ Elias.”

“Why don’t you prove it?” Elias says, eyes darting toward the bedroom door. 

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think you belong to  _ me _ as much as I belong to _ you,” _ Elias murmurs, running his hand down Peter’s throat to splay across his chest. “And that your jealousy is both unnecessary and adorable.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve heard that once or twice, yes,” Elias admits. “Now why don’t you take that jealousy with you to bed?”

“Like this?” Peter reaches down to hitch Elias’s thighs around his waist so he can carry him. Elias always did love that trick, and Peter already can see his breath quickening. 

Elias kisses him fondly, and Peter carries his husband to bed, ready to make him forget all about his little Archivist. 


End file.
